Live Like There's No Tomorrow
by Esca Madeline
Summary: After tagging City Hall, Jimmy is forced to do community service at Happy Endings Retirement Home. Jimmy/Mrs. Lisburn friendship.


Disclaimer: Bully is the property of Rockstar.

A/N: While working off his community services hours, Jimmy interacts with an elderly resident of Happy Endings Retirement home. Light possible crack pairing, but nothing serious. (Hey, don't give me that look. Old people need attention too.)

The poem is from a drama I've watched on AZN, called "My Lovely Sam-Soon."

**Episode: Live Like There's No Tomorrow**

Throughout his fifteen years of life, Jimmy quickly learned that any job, once done long enough, would eventually become something that a person did in a half-conscious state. As soon as he was shown how to do a certain task, as soon as he figured out exactly what his hopeful (dumbass) bosses wanted from him, he simply ran on automatic.

After the first week or two of training, when all of the new (wearisome) procedures had settled into his brain, if the current task wasn't completely mind-numbing to start out with, he found the assignments tolerable enough to keep his attention from the time he went on the clock to the time he was allowed to go back to the academy. Wash, rinse, dry, repeat.

However, Jimmy discovered that there was a marked difference between having a boring job that _paid _him to do boring tasks…and having a boring job that got him jack shit because he was forced there (at gunpoint, to his dismay) by the policemen who wanted to make sure that he did his goddamn community service on time. (Never again. He was never going to vandalize state buildings in broad daylight ever again. GARY SMITH WAS A DEAD MAN.)

It was those kinds of jobs that almost required him to lose a little (_a lot_) of his sanity just to survive it.

* * *

He was working at a retirement home—Happy Endings Retirement Home, to be more precise.

The one thing that everyone knew about retirement homes, the one thing which was true most of the time, was that people died there. It was where the old and the invalid were taken when they could no longer care for themselves and when their loved ones, for whatever reason, couldn't (didn't want to) take care of them either.

It was a home where the well-to-do elderly spent their final days, being cared for like the (fallen) kings and queens they were during their youth, while their preppy families spent their hard-earned (and now dwindling) fortunes on themselves due to their unending greed.

And that was why Jimmy personally thought the name of the retirement home was stupid. There were no such things as happy endings, not when the elderly ended up losing every bit of property, love, respect they had had in their younger days, not when they were all trapped in their own man-made, counterfeit prison.

* * *

Retirement homes were horrible places to work. After a while, Jimmy realized that it took a certain kind of personality to work with the old and elderly while still having the ability to go through the workday with a gentle smile on your face and a light laugh on your lips. For him it was hard, because while he personally didn't know any of the residents at Happy Endings Retirement Home, he still understood the cold, hard fact that these (forgotten) people were slowly degenerating and failing, and that they would eventually die (rot) away.

It was even harder due to the fact that he didn't like smiling and laughing all that much to begin with.

That's why he stopped investing so much of himself into the (forced) community service. He stopped so he could just get through another weekend, so he could look at the old men and women in the face without wincing at the sorrow lurking under the surface.

It was how he got through the day without breaking completely.

But disconnecting also meant becoming a little unfeeling. Jimmy couldn't—_couldn't—_become friends with people he knew were going down a rough, tragic road. It hadn't been something he considered when he (stupidly) agreed to fulfill his community service sentence there. But seeing as he mowed the lawns, got the orderlies their lunches, mopped the floors, delivered lunch trays to senile old men and women who thought he was their grandson, etcetera, etcetera, etcetera…he was quickly considered by the residents as the kind, youthful "foreman" of the staff, despite his efforts to say otherwise.

He was there where the action happened every day, and unfortunately, he was not shielded from the emergencies or the trauma. In his first week, he had seen two people die. In his second week, he had seen five taken out on gurneys. Two were people he didn't know, as they were already too far gone by the time he had arrived. One he only knew by how she liked her bed made and the kinds of books she left on her bedside table. One he knew well enough to talk to. The last three he knew a little of their families, and why they were there, and what kind of food they liked to eat for breakfast. They knew his name, and they said good morning when he came in to clean for them. In two weeks, he had lost three people he could have (wanted to) call friends.

By the third week, he realized that he had three options. He could either learn to deal with the pain, quit and ask the judge for another community service sentence that probably wouldn't be as lenient, or detach himself from everything and everyone while he was at work.

Put on a happy face, but not allow himself to feel _anything_. It wasn't that hard, really, just pretending to care.

For a while, Jimmy had successfully disconnected himself while holding up the pretense of being fully engaged, while in reality he always held himself back (protected himself). He didn't want to be hurt (to be weak), to cry at anyone's deathbed (like a fucking pussy). It was like he was a machine, just there to do his time and look human, when really he was nothing more than a shell.

But the tiniest crack could topple even the best-built defenses.

* * *

He was nicknamed "the foreman", which meant that all the residents wanted him to help them. This also meant that he saw everything there was to see, excluding only the most extreme cases where he was shuffled out so the more qualified people could do their jobs. But he still saw what a lot of people never did (because they never wanted to see it to begin with). He saw things that even the doctors and nurses failed to see, just because of what his job entailed.

Although he was still a young boy, he saw little sides to people on a daily basis that were easy to (purposefully) overlook.

* * *

It was a small thing, at first. There was a woman he saw every weekend. She was very, very kind to him, was quite well-liked in the senior citizen community, and Jimmy had known her even before he had been "hired" to work at the nursing home.

He remembered her. She was right near the beginning of his paper route, right at Happy Endings Retirement Home. Normally he didn't deliver there, for the entire building received its own shipment of papers for its feeble residents, but occasionally one of the orderlies would order (demand) a paper from him, and he would be forced to make that extra stop on his already tight schedule.

Once, he had accidentally (on purpose) thrown the paper (a bit too hard) at the orderly's head, and this resulted in him getting chased for the better part of an hour. He would have been caught (and thrashed beyond belief) had a pink-clad old lady not instructed him to hide in the flower bushes. As the orderly ran by, his eyes bulging and darting around wildly (animalistically), Jimmy crouched between the leaves and flowers, not daring to breathe as the old lady sat on a porch swing and calmly told the orderly that "the strange-looking, devilishly handsome young man went and leaped over that gosh-darn wall!"

At that point the orderly had ranted, raved, and kicked the side of the building (dangerously close to where the flower bushes were), but he had eventually stormed off. When he was out of sight, Jimmy dashed out of his hiding place and ran off, hopping onto his bike and peddling away as fast as his legs could carry him.

He had completely forgotten to thank the old woman at the time, but she thankfully wasn't the type to hold a grudge. She merely sighed as she took a sip of her brandy and shook her head, watching him speed off from the corner of her eye.

He hadn't expected to see her again, and when he caught a glimpse of her during his first day of community service (and she was still wearing those god-awful pink pajamas, damn it) he felt very awkward and uncomfortable.

* * *

Nancy Lisburn. "That's my name, young'un, so don't wear it out," she would say, always patting Jimmy on the shoulder as she invited him to sit down and have some iced coffee with her. Sometimes she would offer him lemonade, other times she would pour him a glass of cold cherry Kool-Aid. Whatever the drink, though, she would always add some brandy to her own glass, swirling it around before tossing the beverage down her throat in one gulp.

To be honest, Jimmy didn't even really _like_ iced coffee or Kool-Aid or lemonade (his caffeinated beverage of choice was Beam Cola), but he couldn't turn down her offers. The old woman would smile at him, greet him cordially, and was so kind towards him (damn it, why did she have to act so nice?) that Jimmy just didn't have the will to pretend that she didn't exist. Besides, he hated feeling like he owed a debt to _anyone, _so he decided that he would just stop by her room during the weekends to _talk_.

That was good enough in his books, and thankfully, the woman didn't expect more.

Today had been an iced coffee day. As Mrs. Lisburn passed him his cup (Jimmy noticed that she used three sugar packets, a bunch of Splendas, and quite a bit of cream. As for himself, he muddled about with a little sugar and cream; he wasn't really a coffee person, after all), the old woman finally broke the personable but quiet silence.

"It's not exactly Starbucks," she stated warmly. "But it's something, right?"

Jimmy only nodded—he realized that if he tried to speak, there was a small (high) chance he would say something stupid or offensive, so he only gave the elderly lady a little smile, and tried a small sip of the cold brew, just to be polite. It tasted bitter (terrible and nauseating), so he added some more sugar as Mrs. Lisburn continued to talk. Sugar always helped.

"Thanks for stopping by, son. It's a really nice thing you're doing for an old gal like me. My family's all the way back in Houston, but they never can find the time to visit their old, ailing grandmammy. Oh well, guess it can't be helped, they having their own busy little lives and all. I should apologize, taking up your time like this…but still, it beats having to pull weeds from the gardens with them orderlies, am I right?"

She laughed then, a sweet, melodic sound, and Jimmy found himself fighting down the sudden grin that had threatened to split his quiet demureness in two. He nodded instead (he was still worried about saying something offensive to the one person who hadn't died on him yet), and let a small smile escape. He was rewarded with a big smile back from the old woman.

They sat that way for a while, Mrs. Lisburn talking and Jimmy sipping politely at his iced coffee. He wasn't even really paying attention to what the elderly lady was saying. He caught snatches of information here and there, though—she was from a large family, had been the youngest of five children. She married Tucker Lisburn right after she finished high school, and had seen amazing animals and creatures when she traveled the world with her beloved beau.

He was occupied with just _watching_ the old woman. The way she smiled warmly, how she gestured quite a bit while talking…she was a fairly good orator. The sitting and listening was actually sort of _nice_, and not in that horrible shallow sort of way. He _liked_ sitting and listening to Mrs. Lisburn. It was (surprisingly) _pleasant_ and _decent_ and all sorts of other things.

Jimmy was shocked (in a good way) when he realized that he was starting to look forward to the days when he could just sit in the old woman's room to have a cold drink.

* * *

"Ack, you don't have to keep coming in here, Jimmy. I'm boring. I'm an old she-devil who's trying to keep you to herself, just so she can keep her mind off her own monotonous life."

"Ma'am, don't say that."

In fact, as the weeks went by and he learned more and more about her, Jimmy wanted to protest that Mrs. Lisburn was _incredibly_ interesting. It wasn't often that he met a person who was as well-informed about the school as Petey was, and even then Petey's information tended to be on the serious-to-boring side. Apparently, the old woman had been Dr. Crabblesnitch's babysitter during his childhood (Jimmy was now positive that Lisburn was _ancient_ in terms of age), and despite not having ever worked at the school, she was aware of the current romantic relationships between the teachers, the staff, even some of the students.

"I heard," Mrs. Lisburn had whispered during one of their past meetings, "that some little harlot made out with half the football team! And she did it underneath the bleachers, right in the middle of a school game!" The elderly woman sighed, and shook her head. "The shamelessness of it all…I swear, if I ever see that Mona Trampbardi, or whatever that brazen hussy's name is, I'm giving her a good talking to…"

The old woman had provided so much amusing tales for him, but Jimmy had yet to respond in kind. The possibility of talking about his own family popped up briefly, but Jimmy quickly dismissed it—who'd want to hear about his (slutty) mother, anyway? But when Mrs. Lisburn started to verbally degrade herself for supposedly keeping him against his will, Jimmy let go of his lip (that he hadn't realized he was chewing on until now) and started talking.

"I think you're much more interesting than I am, ma'am," Jimmy said finally, tossing seven packets worth of sugar into his coffee cup as the old woman poured him a fresh serving. "I didn't mean to be so quiet…but I might as well tell you a little about what's going on at school, even though my life isn't nearly as interesting as yours."

He took a sip of his coffee, forced himself not to make a face at the taste, and decided to tell about how his ex-best friend, Gary Smith, tried to murder him by having the school's biggest and strongest bully break every bone in his body. He then went on to tell the elderly lady about how Petey, his new best friend (and fuck buddy), had broken off his own friendship with Gary when he finally got it through his head that the older boy was _actually_ a maniacal, egotistical lunatic and that he wasn't just joking around. Jimmy finished by telling Mrs. Lisburn about the final showdown he and Gary had had on the school roof, complete with him rescuing the poor, oblivious Dr. Crabblesnitch at the end and that whole cliché and everything.

But that was nothing compared to what his (slut) mother was dealing with (something about false names and scamming off rich, lonely bastard men); honestly, didn't every family have to deal with shit like that?

…

Apparently not, considering the old woman's facial expressions as he continued through the story. As he went on, even through the boring parts like disguising himself as a Prep and sneaking into Harrington House to destroy a million-dollar-plant, Mrs. Lisburn kept staring at him with wide, fascinated eyes. It occurred to Jimmy towards the end that perhaps the old woman _didn't_ have to deal with those things. She had those animals to combat around the world (like those Nile crocodiles and the Bengal tigers), which Jimmy thought were much more interesting than the high school drama he had to live with. However, he had started telling this tale and he had to finish it.

"And that's why I always check to see if the garbage cans around school are empty," Jimmy concluded.

He smiled brightly at Mrs. Lisburn. He thought it was a rather good retelling of the story, boring as it might be (_to him_, at any rate. It was interesting to the old woman, if her face was any indication).

Mrs. Lisburn just looked at him, the same look of incredulity combined with—something that Jimmy couldn't quite recognize but looked something close to admiration, a look that made his cheeks feel just a bit warmer than usual. And then the old woman had the audacity to smile, and Jimmy's cool shattered. He burst into a grin that was completely unlike him and even let out a small laugh. He even blushed.

"See, I knew it. You lied to me, boy."

And Jimmy's smile wilted as he retreated to his moderately standoffish persona. Mrs. Lisburn didn't seem to notice as she continued.

"You're a _very_ interesting young man, James Hopkins. Very interesting indeed."

The smile returned, possibly stronger than before, before Jimmy caught himself and dialed down from eleven to about three or so, which was safer and much more proper (considering he was the king of Bullworth and all).

* * *

Back then, Nancy Lisburn had lived in one of the grander (richer) houses of Old Bullworth Vale. Even after her beloved husband passed away, she had still been strong and independent. But then she came to the "assisted living" portion of town because of a fall that left her shaky (immobile) on her feet. She was still as bright and funny and friendly as ever, though, and willing to talk about her travels and her daughters for hours if someone gave her the chance. Her walls were covered with pieces of her craft and candid pictures of herself with her daughters, who all looked remarkably like her (but didn't care about her in the slightest, seeing as they left her to rot in an old folks home).

"See that picture of Hannah-Marie, over there?" Mrs. Lisburn said one day to Jimmy, as he placed fresh flowers in a vase next to her bed. "She's the most hot-headed of my girls, but oh, I just love her to pieces. Tucker used to say that she's the one who looks the most like me, but I can't see it. She's way too pretty."

"Oh?" Jimmy stared at the picture of Hannah-Marie, before turning back to Mrs. Lisburn. He stared at the daughter, then the mother, and cocked his head to the side curiously. "Actually, I do see the resemblance…"

"Ha! Flatterer!"

"No, really. I mean it, ma'am." Hannah-Marie's face was round, and her lips, though pretty enough, drooped at the corners, while Mrs. Lisburn's lips seemed to forever curve upwards into an eternal smile. But their foreheads were alike, high and broad, their heads rested on long, stately necks, and they both had striking (beautiful) violet eyes. "I'm not gonna lie and say that you're Mrs. Universe, or anything, but…" Jimmy smiled. "I think you must have been a knockout when you were younger, ma'am. I mean it." (And he did.)

"Hmm…" Mrs. Lisburn's lips thinned, and her brow furrowed in thought. Then, before Jimmy realized what was happening, the elderly lady bent over and gave him a small peck on the cheek, laughing heartily at the sudden shade of beet red that colored Jimmy's face. "You're a good boy, Hopkins. Tucker would have loved you."

"M-ma'am…"

"Say, come and help me get to the park, will you? I wanna see the stars again, and I'm tired of being cooped up in this glorified prison anyway…"

* * *

It wasn't just pictures that Nancy Lisburn had in her room. There were pieces of her life scattered everywhere, places where it was hard to miss. Newspaper clippings, letters scribbled on old paper, books on how to draw realistic people, handmade scarves…Jimmy saw it all, and despite his best efforts to not absorb it, he found himself memorizing every detail of the old woman's life. It wasn't entirely voluntary on his part—he didn't want to let himself take any of it in on a personal level, or to think about it or humanize it in any way. Because if he did that, and when Mrs. Lisburn's time suddenly came, it would just tear his heart out all over again. (If that happened, he would be weak, and he _wasn't _weak damn it.)

And then he looked in her diary.

It wasn't something a person would think to do, normally; looking inside someone's diary. But Jimmy wasn't exactly what people would call normal. He was rude, brash, and cold to others, and he had been callous enough to read a girl's diary before. Given his current job, however, he was required to pick things up off the floor if they fell, and one such move had him staring at the old, browning pages of the woman's private diary.

He only saw one page, one sentence. Right at the end of the left page was a flow of text written in small, neat, cursive handwriting.

"_Live like there's no tomorrow._"

He didn't know how long he stared at those words, bent over as the diary sat in his hands. He didn't know what it was that finally got him to straighten back up and continue with his job. But what he did know was that he couldn't keep himself completely separated from Mrs. Lisburn anymore.

"Live like there's no tomorrow." Those were simple (powerful) words, and understandable in and of themselves. But they had him thinking, and thinking for a long time. They were simple, yes, but he had to consider the source. They were words printed in a diary belonging to a woman who would most likely not be writing in that diary for much longer. Every time she took a breath, she would be reminded of her little phrase, and possibly thinking over what they meant to her as well.

Jimmy thought about them for a long time, wondering what they meant to her. Always keep yourself busy? Be lively and happy all your life? How could a person live if he or she knew there was no tomorrow? Wouldn't they panic and spend their final hours drowning in debauchery and sin? He thought about it a long time, and even wrote the words down so he wouldn't forget. Whenever he went into her room, whenever he stopped to take a cold drink and help her eat her prune pudding, he would glance at the diary, wondering about the words that captivated (haunted) him.

Those words made him look at every aspect of her life a little closer, and made him listen to her stories a little more attentively. For awhile, she became fully human to him. She became a friend.

And he became human again as well. He (almost) felt as if he meant something.

* * *

Jimmy changed positions, opting to work only on the lawn and gardens of the retirement home. He refused to work with the residents anymore, and would give the (cold, heartless) orderlies venomous looks if they even _thought_ about suggesting it to him.

Four days ago, Nancy Lisburn had died.

Jimmy had worked in the retirement home for quite a while now, and he had not cried over anyone's death other than _hers_, or felt more than vague regret and quiet acceptance of what was bound to happen in his particular workplace. He had lost count of the number of deaths …but he cried for that (wonderful) woman.

She died while he was at school, a Wednesday, and he didn't hear about it until three days after the fact. He didn't have the chance to attend her bedside memorial, nor did he get the chance to pay his respects to her family. (Not that they came anyway.)

All he had were the words in her diary. "Live like there's no tomorrow."

She had believed in those words every day. He remembered how she had smiled whenever he walked past, how she would comment that he looked and acted so much like her late husband, and how she still had the photos of her (ungrateful) family hung on her walls.

Feeling the hot tears run down his cheeks for the first time in a long time, Jimmy wondered about those words again, and he began to think that he understood what they meant. Nancy Lisburn had been a traveler, after all. Being a traveler required a certain awareness, a questioning nature that led to a unique, odd, and sometimes tilted view of the world. People had to experience the world and be a part of it to fully appreciate it. They had to get wet, get cold, and get sand stuck between their toes to enjoy the sea. They had to get bug bites, rocks in their shoes, and splinters in their fingers to feel a forest.

They had to feel the pain to understand the pleasure, too.

He could hear Mrs. Lisburn's words ringing in his ears. "Don't let yourself become too isolated, Jimmy. You can't become separate from the people who love you. You have to be a part of them, as they are a part of you, to enjoy life to the fullest.

"Dance like no one's watching, sing like no one's listening, work like you don't need the money, love like you've never been hurt before, live like there's no tomorrow. That's the secret of life, young'un, and don't you forget it."

* * *

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